Video Games
by Sam Rebelle
Summary: It's you It's you It's all for you Everything I do -Lana Del Rey
1. The World Was Built For Two

Chapter 1

It had been 2 years since Sherlock had died. John had taken Sherlock's job, to keep himself busy. When he didn't have a case he just sulked around. He hardly ate. Most of the time just sat in his chair, staring at the empty one in front of him. When Sherlock died, John had died inside. He had had nothing else to live for.

John would visit Sherlock's grave every day. Every day for 2 years. 729 times. He would tell Sherlock how his day had gone. How Sherlock would have found this case boring; too easy or how he had solved it. How he's getting better at deducing things. How empty it is around the flat. How much he misses him and wishes he was still here.

Sherlock had faked his death. He couldn't tell John because he knew Moriarty was still out there. He had figured that out almost immediately after faking his death. If he told John, Moriarty might use John against him again. Moriarty probably already knew Sherlock was trying to find him again. He was working on killing off small parts of his web, trying to get closer to Moriarty. It was all for John. Protecting John was all that mattered anymore.

2 years after killing off a large part of the network. He decided to just come to his grave. He wouldn't make any contact with John. He just needed to see John, see that he was okay, and taking care of himself. He showed up early, and looked at his own grave._ That's a funny sentence, _ Sherlock thought,_looking at my own grave. _

He saw that there were flowers around it. It was obviously cared for. He saw the footprints from the day before when John had dutifully come, just like every day before that and the hand print on the top of the stone where he rested his hand while he spoke of his day. Sherlock sighed. He really missed John. He'd give anything to talk to him again. He started to pull out his phone. He began to type out a message to John._ I'm okay. I'm not dead. I'm sorry. I miss you. I can explain everything later on. -SH _

He couldn't send it, though. He wouldn't put John in danger like that. He slid the phone shut. His phone saved it as a draft automatically.

He stuffed his phone into his coat pocket. Forgetting that on his last fight with someone in Moriarty's web, this pocket had acquired a hole. He walked a distance away from the grave and positioned himself in a hidden spot to where he couldn't be seen, but could see John.

Soon after he had hid himself, he saw John approaching. The sight of John made him so happy, but also extremely depressed, knowing he still couldn't see him. He saw that John had lost weight, obviously not eating as much as he used to and that he was using his cane again. He saw a look of great and deep sadness on John's face. Sherlock had to look away for a moment. His death had hit John harder than he thought. He sighed as he watched John kneel down, speaking words he couldn't hear, to his tombstone.

John walked slowly to Sherlock's grave for the 730th time. He sighed as he knelt down in front of it. "2 years Sherlock. You've missed so much." John felt tears roll down his face as he remembered the day it all happened. He started to stand up and go home when he saw a glint of something shiny behind the tombstone. _That wasn't there yesterday. _ He went and picked up the shiny thing and stared in shock.

This was Sherlock's phone.


	2. Honey, Is That True?

Chapter 2

Sherlock was in his new apartment, far away from 221B, where John wouldn't ever think of going. He reached into his pocket for his phone, and felt his hand go through the hole he had forgotten about. His phone was gone. Sherlock began to panic. He thought back and remembered putting the phone in his pocket and leaving his grave as quickly as possible. He must have dropped it then. This was not good. This could mean that John had found his phone. It was then that he remembered the message he'd saved as a draft. He felt all the blood rush out of his face. If Moriarty found out John knew that Sherlock was still alive, he would definitely try to find him and... Sherlock couldn't think about the rest. He needed to, (as much as he hated to admit it) pay his brother, Mycroft, a visit.

"What is it this time?" Mycroft asked, a look of annoyance on his face when Sherlock burst into his sitting room in the middle of tea.

"Mycroft", Sherlock said, fright in his trembling voice, "John may have found out about my death being a fake." He looked up at Mycroft, who was sitting in his armchair with a cup of tea in one hand and a small piece of cake in the other.

"And this is of my concern how?" Mycroft set his tea and cake down and looked up at Sherlock, knowing perfectly well what was to be said.

"As you have obviously been too incompetent to deduce, I fear that John will come to you in search of information and, in order to protect him, he must know nothing of my whereabouts." He saw slight boredom in Mycroft's eyes and was suddenly extremely angry.

"ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?!" He shouted. "JOHN COULD GET HURT. HE COULD DIE!" Sherlock looked away and whispered, "He could die, Mycroft. He could die and it would be my fault. Mycroft looked up and saw the genuine hurt in Sherlock's eyes.

"I won't tell him anything", Mycroft said. Suddenly, he knew for sure. He had to promise him this. This one time, he had to do something for his brother.

"I'll be off, then." Sherlock departed for his next stop. 221B Baker Street.

John tentatively knocked on the large wooden doors that led into Mycroft's house, two hours after visiting Sherlock's grave, trying to tell himself not to hope too much. It was possible the phone had been there all the time and John had just missed it. _No_,John thought suddenly. _It was never there until today and you know it. _John nodded, fully certain this time. _Then why won't you put in the pass code, _a voice in the back of John's head suddenly spoke up. _You know the password if it is Sherlock's, so why don't you just enter it in? _John shook the thought aside. Mycroft answered the door.

"John", Mycroft said. "I was not expecting you today. Come in." John walked in and they both went into the sitting room.

"Tea?" Mycroft offered. John shook his head no.

"I had some... Questions", John managed, "Concerning Sherlock's death." He might as well get right to it. He needed answers. He pulled out the phone to show Mycroft. "I found this at, umm, Sherlock's tombstone today." Mycroft picked up the phone and saw that it was, indeed, Sherlock's. _So this is what he was talking about, _Mycroft thought. _He dropped his phone._

"I don't suppose you know anything?" John prompted, hearing the almost childish sounding hope in his voice. He could tell Mycroft had heard it as well.

"Can't say that I do", Mycroft answered."

"Are you positive?" John asked, worry and despair returning, until he saw Mycroft's eyes.

"You're lying!" John shouted. "He came to you, didn't he?" John thought some more. "He's trying to _protect _me, isn't he? ISN'T HE?" John was suddenly furious. How dare they think they could hide something so monumental from him all this time? He had been hurting the past 2 _years. _He had been heart broken and dying for 2 years and no one had felt it necessary to tell him _anything? _He was going to take matters into his own hands.

"Have a nice day, Mycroft." John started for the door.

"John, listen", Mycroft started.

"No, _you _listen, John hissed through his teeth. I've believed that my best friend is dead for 2 years and all the while you carried on, knowing he wasn't and never once thinking to tell me he was alive as I slowly withered away. I've been _dying_. He realized the cold truth of the words he had just spoken as he whirled out the door. Without Sherlock, he'd been dying. There were no other words for it.

"John, please", Mycroft pleaded. "Listen to me. You might not come out of this. Sherlock is just trying to protect you."

"Well, then I suppose it's time for me to protect him a bit." John left.

"That was a bit melodramatic." Mycroft picked up his paper and sipped at his tea nervously. This was, in part, his fault.

* * *

Sherlock whirled through the streets, his head bent against the wind as he made his way to his old home. He had concluded that John would be gone for a while. He would most likely visit Mycroft soon after finding the phone, perhaps a couple of hours. Then, he would most likely look around some more, possibly in the homeless networks below the city, but Sherlock had already squared that away, making sure the news that John may have found out spread far and wide throughout London's underground.

Sherlock had also happened to know Mrs. Hudson would be out that day. She was attending a small luncheon in the square. She'd been doing all she could to stay out of 221B, which was a constant reminder of him for her as well as John.

As he turned the corner leading to his old apartment, someone jumped out of the darkness with a knife. Sherlock pulled out a small gun and shot the man without thinking twice. Knowing Moriarty would get someone to come dispose of the body, he hid it in a dark corner and moved on, finally reaching the stairs to 221B.

Events like the latter had been happening for a long time, ever since Sherlock had been forced by Moriarty to fake his death. Moriarty had somehow also faked his own death and was sending people after Sherlock to make things easier for him. Every time, Sherlock managed to fight them off rather easily, though it seemed to get a just a bit harder with every attack, and Moriarty would send someone after the body, leaving the person gone without a trace. This Sherlock couldn't figure out. For someone who wanted Sherlock convicted of murder very badly 2 years ago, he was certainly trying very hard to cover up the murders now. But Sherlock was going to find him and get his answers.

At heart, Sherlock wasn't a murderer. He merely liked to catch them, but the past few months had been hard on him. The first few times Moriarty had sent him the thugs he classified as "Killers" Sherlock had just knocked them out. But as they got harder and harder to beat, Sherlock found himself having to kill, and he accepted what he had to do.

He walked inside and was slightly taken aback at the mere sameness of it. John hadn't moved any of his things. All of his books were still on his desk, along with his microscope. He checked the refrigerator. The jar of eyeballs was still there. John had kept everything just the same. Sherlock felt something he'd never felt before, homesickness. He missed 221B and John and Mrs. Hudson so much. But this would all be over soon. He could feel himself getting closer and closer to Moriarty, whom he would kill with absolutely no mercy.

He quietly went through some old research papers he'd been interested, found what he was looking for, and left without leaving a trace. No one would know he'd been there, not even John. He was sure of it.


	3. Get Over Here

Chapter 3

As Sherlock had guessed, of course John checked with the homeless network. He had had no luck there. Disappointed and a bit agitated, John walked back to 221B, the cold wind biting at his ears. He could almost hear it whispering. _You're a failure, John. You'll never find Sherlock. _Again, he waved the thoughts away. He seemed to be getting better and better at that. He arrived shortly after Sherlock had been there. He set Sherlock's phone on the table in front of his chair and stared at it.

_Okay. Let's start simple, and try to figure it out. Finding the phone means that he's alive. He's been at his grave recently. He would have come back for it, if it had been yesterday or before. What was he doing here? What is he doing anyways? Gone for 2 years... He hid it from me. So whatever he's doing is dangerous. But we've been in dangerous situations before. So that means this must be worse. Worse... _

It suddenly struck John, Moriarty.

That was the only situation in which things had gotten so bad that Sherlock had to, 'die'. _So this mean Sherlock has been trying to kill Moriarty... He couldn't tell me because Moriarty would try to kill me..._

Everything hit John so quickly he couldn't handle it. There was so much going on, and for two years he'd been oblivious. He was overwhelmed. He sat down and began to think about everything. After digesting it all, he stood up again, and began to think.

_I can't just stay here. Surely Moriarty would notice the change in mood. I need to disappear. _Where better to disappear to then a place already non-existent. Wherever Sherlock is, is well hidden obviously. _If I can find him, I'll be safe. And I could help; he always said thinking aloud helped him._

So John decided. He needed to find Sherlock. He needed somewhere to start, just a small clue, to get started on this search. He noticed Sherlock's phone was still on the table. He picked it up and unlocked it. Sherlock hardly ever used it, apparently. There were only scattered calls and texts to Mycroft and Molly. So Molly knew? Why did Molly know? Had she helped in some way? John did notice that all of his texts from 2 years ago were still there.

John was about to throw the phone down, seeing there were no clues to lead him when he saw there was 1 draft saved. It wasn't to Mycroft but to him. He opened it.

* * *

"Molly, I am in need of your assistance." Sherlock entered the lab uninvited where Molly was bent over a table on which a newly arrived body sat, ready for examination. She sighed and stood up again.

"Yes, Sherlock?" She asked patiently.

"I fear that John may have found out that I am alive, is looking for me, and will come to you with questions." Sherlock looked at the ground, his expression unreadable, and then back up at Molly, who could see just the smallest glimmer of light in his eyes.

"How did this happen?" Molly wondered how on earth Sherlock had messed up this monumentally. He was, after all, Sherlock. He didn't make mistakes, or so she thought.

"I visited my grave today and it appears I dropped my mobile phone where John could have found it." He looked at the body on the table. Molly could see the slight curiosity in his face for just a second, and then he was brought back to the moment.

"I won't tell him anything."

"Very well, because I also had some questions about something else." Now, Molly was curious. All Sherlock ever wanted from her was help with experiments or John, and he only ever asked for one thing. She felt a glimmer of hope in her chest.

"And what would that be?" She asked in a way she hoped sounded casual but, in reality, came out a bit high and girlish.

"Do you remember the experiment I was working on just before I had to go into hiding?" Sherlock asked, speaking fast and exuberantly. Molly felt all of the hope flush out of her.

"No, what was that again?" She watched as Sherlock pulled a small stack of papers from his coat.

"I was studying the way humans react to death, the stages of grief, and, most importantly, why people want other people dead and how to manipulate them into thinking that people are already dead." Molly nodded absently and went back to her work. Sherlock went on.

I think that with my research we can trick Moriarty into thinking John and I are dead, but we're going to need Irene." Molly looked up again.

"And how exactly do you propose we go about this, Sherlock? How do you expect to find Irene and get her to play along and, most importantly, what makes you think I'll help you again?" Molly looked at him quizzically, wondering exactly how she fit into all of this. It was obviously all about saving John. She'd already helped him fake his death once. Also, Molly was tired and sick of having to see John and Mrs. Hudson's faces every day. Both of them had died a bit inside with the absence of Sherlock, especially John. Molly hated to know what she did and have to conceal it from them. She felt sick watching John die without him and knowing he was still alive. But still, she did what she could for Sherlock because she knew that, deep down inside, Sherlock was dying, too. She knew she had to help.

"I need you to cover for me", Sherlock said. "John is probably going to come by later and question you. I need you to discourage him from finding me as much as you possibly can. I will find Irene."

Molly felt herself nod as Sherlock left with his research and felt her stomach turning, anxious about when John would eventually arrive, that pained look etched almost permanently on his face, and she would have to carve it in deeper by taking away the only thing that could possibly have erased it, the hope that Sherlock was still alive.

* * *

John could not believe his eyes. There, saved as a draft in Sherlock's phone, was a message to him that read, _I'm okay. I'm not dead. I'm sorry. I miss you. I can explain everything later on. -SH _

John felt the hope spread to his heart, put the phone in his pocket, and headed to Molly's lab. He was going to get some answers if it was the last thing he did.

* * *

"I'm not hungry. Let's have dinner."

"Hello, Irene." Sherlock turned and saw her, The Woman, wearing a long red dress standing under the streetlight.

"Couldn't live without me, could you?" Irene winked and walked over. "However did you find me, Mr. Holmes?"

"I have my ways. I did rescue you, after all."

"So you knew I was in Buckingham all along, did you?"

"Someone had to have been keeping the affair you had quiet. The only logical way was to keep you locked in the palace. Mycroft found a way to, shall we say, liberate you." Sherlock looked intently at her and saw the promise of danger alive and happy in her eyes. He knew he shouldn't have a problem getting her help.

"Well, for you to get your brother's help, you must want something very, very bad."

Sherlock breathed out slowly.

"Cigarette?" Irene brandished one and a lighter. Sherlock took it gratefully, lit it, closed his eyes, and looked back up at her.

"I need you to convince Moriarty that John and I are dead."

* * *

John burst into the lab and cleared his throat. Molly looked up, startled.

"Where is he?" John felt the anger shake in his throat.

"I-I don't know." Molly was shaking with fear. She had never seen John tis way before, his eyes alight with hope and anger.

"I know you know where he is, NOW TELL ME" John screamed. He couldn't take it anymore, the lies and secrets. Then, he saw Molly. Poor, love sick Molly that only ever wanted to please Sherlock. Molly who had worked so hard to accommodate someone she knew would never love her back.

"I'm so sorry, Molly. I just really need to know where he is. He was _dead_ for 2 years and now he might not be. I need to know the truth. I need to know where Sherlock is.

"I don't know", Molly said, honestly. She had no idea where he was going when he said he was going to find Irene. "Honestly."

John saw in her eyes that she really didn't, at least not now. He left without saying anything else.


	4. Watching All Our Friends Fall

My dearest Moran, whatever shall we send down Sherlock's path next?" Jim Moriarty chuckled and looked at his boyfriend of two years, whom he had met almost immediately after both his and Sherlock's faked death.

"Why, I don't know, my dearest Moriarty, what do you suggest?"

"I say we throw him a new level in our little video game we are playing."

"Fantastic idea." My dearest Moran, whatever shall we send down Sherlock's path next?" Jim Moriarty chuckled and looked at his boyfriend of two years, whom he had met almost immediately after both his and Sherlock's faked death.

"Why, I don't know, my dearest Moriarty, what do you suggest?"

"I say we throw him a new level in our little video game we are playing."

"Fantastic idea."

Moriarty looked at Seb and gave him a smile he had saved purely for him and then they began to dance, around and around in the little apartment where they had resided for the best two years of their lives. They danced until 7 o'clock in the morning and then stopped at 9 o'clock, when Sebastian had to go pick up a dear friend of Sherlock Holmes', the first step in the last part of their brilliant scheme.

"Irene, would you be willing to do a bit of an act for me?"

"Why not? Could be fun." Irene smiled at Sherlock through her red-stained lips and concealed the dull fear springing up into her lungs. "Details?"

Sherlock began to tell Irene of his plan to take down Moriarty in detail. Irene ignored most of the addends Sherlock insisted on putting in, but listened intently to all that she was to do.

When he was, finished, she simply nodded and headed down the street. The plan was to take place in three days. Irene had a lot of preparation before that, and she wanted to get it right, or rather, she had to.

John went home in a dejected mood, put on his nightclothes, and went to bed. He tried to sleep

but instead spent an hour lying thinking about what his next move might be, and then he sat straight up.

The text had might have meant more than he had thought. The sentences all started with the letter, "I". 221B was where they lived, so maybe Sherlock was in 221I. John didn't know if he was thinking crazily based on fats his tired mind was making up or if he had a real point here. Nevertheless, he began to put on his clothes and walked to the door with a new determination in his mind.

Irene found her way to her new apartment, 321D, and crept up the stairs to find a face she had hoped never to see.

"Hello, my dearest dominatrix". Sebastian Moran was sitting in her new living room on a lone plastic chair, pointing a gun at her head. "I suggest you cooperate."

Irene, being someone that was constantly threatened and just someone with a general knowledge of what happened to people like her , pulled a gun out of her coat and aimed, but not before Sebastian could run up and rip it out of her hands. She glowered at him with an anger so deep you could tell she'd lost something to this man. Sebastian pulled at some rope and pointed at the chair, all while keeping a gun pointed at Irene's head.

"Let's make this easy."

"You killed my mother."

"Was that me?"

"I will kill you."

"I'd love to see you try."

And with that, Sebastian tied her up and dragged her out of the apartment and into his van, and then took her back to his and Moriarty's apartment, where she was to be stored in the closet until the next day, when they would need her again.

John sped down the street and into an alley, a jumper on over his pajamas. He walked as fast as he could until he reached 221I and, in a breathless stupor, he knocked on the door.

Sherlock heard the knock on his door and immediately felt extremely worried. For once, he didn't know what he was going to do. He had no idea who it could be. He hadn't made another appointment with Irene until the following day and Molly still didn't know where he lived. He walked slowly to the door, his hand on the pistol in his pocket, and opened it.

"John."

"Sherlock."

They stood for a second. Then, all of a sudden, John's fist was in Sherlock's face and he was screaming.

YOU… YOU… I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD. YOU WERE DEAD. You were dead." John trailed off and fell into Sherlock's arms, the only place that felt right.

Sherlock, who rarely felt anything, found himself shaking.

"John, I am so sorry. I am truly sorry."

John nodded and they both walked back inside, and talked and talked. They talked about Moriarty and Sherlock's plan, about Irene and Molly, about Sherlock's phone, and about how to figure this out. And then, they fell asleep, at the same time, on opposite chairs.

"Don't worry, darling. We already know where he's planning on meeting you. No need to worry about betrayal." Sebastian smirked at Irene, who was glaring from the back of the van Jim and himself were driving to the garage where Sherlock and Irene had agreed to meet and discuss how to take down Jim's "Web". He chuckled to himself at the silly little names they'd come up with.

Jim had been calling the schemes and trappings levels in a video game he had invented to take down Holmes once and for all. He was calling today "The Final Level" and Sebastian thought it was adorable. All they had to do was get "The Woman" and Sherlock Holmes would be cowering and begging at their knees. Sebastian was ready for this.

Jim Moriarty focused on the road, all the confidence in the world on his side. He had everything in the world he could ever have needed: His boyfriend at his side, an unsuspecting Sherlock Holmes, and the promise of an ending he could count on. The Final Level was ready, and so was Jim.

"We'll be meeting Irene in a garage near the outskirts of the city. It is run down and hasn't been used in several years, so we should be safe and distanced from any prying eyes or ears."

John nodded nervously, feeling something very wrong in the pit of his stomach, but he didn't mention it, because he trusted Sherlock with his life, and if this is what he had planned, this is what John was going to go along with.

Sherlock felt nervousness turning in his stomach, as well, though his was mostly for John. If anything ever happened to his doctor because of his own actions, he would never be able to go on, let alone forgive himself or solve any more cases.

They walked up the street to the garage. It was time.


End file.
